Dreams
by IcedHotChocolate
Summary: Alan starts having some strange dreams about his brother. Strange as in awkward and resembling wet dreams. He decides to investigate and see if he can discover their source. Crack, duh xD .
1. Part I of II

**Dreams**

**Disclaimer: **The Lost Boys are not mine. If they were, Edgar and Alan would be in my room right now, naked, and doing, ahem, stuff, with each other.

**Summary: **Alan starts having some strange dreams about his brother. Strange as in awkward and resembling wet dreams. He decides to investigate and see if he can discover their source.

**Warnings: **I sort of had a vague idea in my head, and it didn't really start to take shape until I was halfway through this, so forgive any crappness. There's boykisses, and... it's crackish. But have I ever written anything that wasn't?

--

Subconsciouses made no sense. They were random, brainless, and not connected to the conscious in any way whatsoever. They seemed to serve no purpose, other than confusing you and making life even more strange and difficult than it already was. Subconsciouses ought to all be lined up against a wall and shot.

Or, at least, that's what Alan thought. And Alan was pretty sure that he was right. There couldn't possibly be anyone who thought that the subconscious served a purpose (other than confusing you and making your life even more strange and difficult than it already was). Dreams were cool and all, he couldn't deny that, but when they started to get as weird and awkward as his were getting, they were just torturous.

He wasn't even having the typical sort of weird dream that boys his age would have. They weren't scary or stressful, and they didn't star that girl who sat next to him in history class, the one with the _huge _tits. He wished his dreams had her in them. That would be fucking awesome. But they didn't even relate to girls, or tits. No, these dreams were much scarier, and much more awkward.

They had started out pretty mellow. He had been dreaming about shoe shopping for some reason, and was trying on a pair of bright blue combat boots. In the background, a troupe of monkeys dressed as mailmen did the cancan while singing a dirty song to the tune of the James Bond theme. To sum it up, he was having a perfectly normal dream. It was one of those dreams that make you wake up confused, yet strangely happy.

Alan was basking happily in the total randomness of his dream, when, suddenly, his brother walked out from a trapdoor behind the counter. Edgar looked around the store slowly, like he was checking for some sort of threat. Well, knowing Edgar, he probably was. Vampires were constantly on his mind. Edgar finished his inspection, and finally seemed to notice Alan. He ran over to him, ducking as the cancanning monkeys threw glittery tulips at him.

"Alan, there's an emergency!" he said, panting. Why was he panting? He only ran about twelve feet. Edgar was weird. Alan turned back to his combat boots, which were now a strange shade of magenta. And, hm, they weren't even combat boots anymore. They were stilettos. That was an interesting development.

"Alan, you have to listen to me!" said Edgar, snapping his fingers in Alan's face. Alan picked up one of the shoes and inspected it closely. It looked like a normal stiletto, but he suspected that, under the surface, it was something magical and possibly sinister. But what could it be?

"Alan! Pay attention!" Edgar shouted, grabbing the shoe and throwing it across the room. It hit one of the cancanning monkeys and knocked onto the ground. It shattered into hundreds of little pieces. The manager (or, at least, that's what Alan thought she was) screamed and pointed. One of the employees ran over with a broom to clean it up.

"Edgar," said Alan reproachfully, "You just broke that monkey. Are you going to fix it?" 1 Edgar shook his head and pulled Alan to his feet.

"I am going to leave that monkey right where it is. It got what it deserved." Edgar brushed off the front of Alan's t-shirt.

"You got some dust on your chest," he said. "Now, come with me. Something terrible has happened." He grabbed Alan's hand and pulled him to the back of the store. Along the brick wall that served as the back of the store, there were many doors. Each of them had a number and three letters on them.

"We need to find 69XXX," said Edgar, scanning the line of doors. "Help me find it." Alan looked up the line of doors. 666WTF, 42OMG, 123HUR…

"There it is!" he said, pointing to the door at the far end. Edgar grinned and started to run towards that door. He was still holding Alan's hand tightly, and was dragging him along like a little kid. 2 Alan couldn't help but think that this was a bit degrading. He did not need to be lead around like a stupid little kid. He was about to stop Edgar and give him a piece of his mind, when Edgar let go of his hand on his accord.

"Here we are, door 69XXX," he said happily. "Come on Alan, we have to talk inside here." Why did it make a difference whether they talked in there or in any of the other rooms? Alan didn't bother asking, though. Edgar never explained anything until he wanted to explain it. It was one of his rather annoying habits.

Edgar pushed the door open and peered inside. "The coast is clear," he called, stepping in. Alan eyed the door suspiciously before following him. If there was something creepy inside, like demented clowns or tentacle monsters, he would de-ball Edgar. He was not in the mood for something scary right now. He had been happily shoe shopping before Edgar dragged him into… whatever this was.

The room held no demented clowns, or tentacle monsters, just a beige couch and a counter. Well, that was sort of strange. Perhaps it was a room that people used for holding parties? You could put food and drinks on the counter, and sit on the couch. It was obviously a room for those boring grownup parties. The kind that his mother loved having, for some reason.

"Come sit on the couch," said Edgar, waving him over. Alan sat down carefully on the couch, hoping that it wouldn't explode or anything. He had no idea what would happen. The entire situation was totally weird.

"Okay, the reason I pulled you in here was… one second." Edgar pulled his shirt off. "Okay, there we go. The reason I pulled you in here—"

"Wait!" said Alan, "What the hell was that? Why'd you just take your shirt off?" Edgar shrugged.

"I just felt like it," he said, "Now, anyway, as I was saying, the reason I pulled you in here was… uhmmm…." Edgar scratched his head. Alan rolled his eyes.

"You distract me from my shoe shopping, pull me into some random room, take off your shirt, and forget why you did it all?" he asked. "You are the weirdest person I have ever met, Edgar. What makes you tick?" Edgar grinned.

"Clock juice." Alan started.

"What?"

"Clock juice makes me tick," said Edgar. Alan blinked.

"Edgar, you're starting to get a little fuzzy around the edges," he said. Everything was started to get fuzzy. The entire room was sliding in and out focus.

"Am I?" said Edgar, looking at his shoulder. "Well, my edges seem fine. Maybe you're just going crazy, or maybe—"

Alan woke with a start. What the _hell_ was that? He had strange and random dreams all the time, but never quite like that one. That was like a cross between an acid trip and a demented wet dream. Except, instead of some girl randomly taking off her shirt, it was his brother, which made it even weirder, and more demented.

"I should stop doing LSD before bed," he muttered.

"You do LSD?" Alan turned around. Speak of the devil, there was his brother, standing in the doorway. Alan laughed and shook his head, trying to not remember his dream.

"No, I don't. I just had a really weird dream," he said. "LSD is the only explanation I can think of right now." Edgar walked over to him and grabbed his chin, forcing Alan to look him in the eye. Okay, this was a little awkward. Edgar seemed to be inspecting him or something.

"Well, I don't see any signs that your mind is being controlled by vampires," he finally said, letting go of Alan's chin, "I think this just proves my other theory." Alan looked at his brother incredulously. He'd actually thought that vampires were controlling his mind? And even if he had been under the influence of vampire powers, how would looking into his eyes tell Edgar anything?

"What is this 'other theory'?" he asked, stretching and stepping out of his bed. He stumbled tiredly over to his dresser and shuffled through the drawers, trying to find a t-shirt that didn't smell like a dog had taken a shit on it. Alan had a problem with remembering to wash his clothes before he put them back into the drawers. Edgar flopped back on Alan's bed and fiddled with his headband.

"My other theory is that you are mentally retarded and totally beyond all help," he said, grinning. Alan rolled his eyes and flipped him off. Finally, he found a shirt that wasn't too horrendous and pulled it over his head. Now, to find some pants. If he remembered correctly, a pair of his jeans had made it into the washing machine yesterday. Where had he put them?

"I'm not the mentally retarded one," said Alan, crouching down to look under the bed. He found a pair of combat boots and a Superman action figure, but no pants. He grabbed the combat boots and dragged them out into the open, in case he needed them later and forgot where he had put them. He had an unfortunate habit of doing that a lot.

"I'm not retarded. Compared to you, I'm not even _close _to retarded," said Edgar, watching his brother crawl around on the floor and look under every piece of furniture. "What are you doing?" Alan grabbed a still intact chocolate bar out from under his dresser and placed it on top. He might need that later.

"I'm tryingto find a pair of mostly clean pants," he said, sitting back on his heels, "But so far, I'm not having any luck. I did find some chocolate, though, and my combat boots." Looking at his combat boots reminded him of the blue combat boots in the shoe store he dreamt about, which reminded him of door 69XXX, which reminded him of the reason he was so distressed when he woke up.

"You can borrow some of mine," said Edgar, "Unlike you, I actually keep track of my laundry and make sure that I have a steady supply of clean clothes. Clean clothes. Not mostly clean ones." That was true. Edgar was strange, random, and usually very sloppy, but he always had clean clothes. It was one of those strange little Edgar quirks that Alan would never understand.

"Do you think they'd fit me?" he asked, dusting his pants off as he stood up. How the hell did he manage to get five dust bunnies stuck to his thighs? His room wasn't _that _dirty. He looked around at the random piles of junk and food debris. Well… maybe it was. He would have to see about cleaning up a bit. Maybe he could trick Edgar into doing it?

"You may be older than me, but you're really not that much taller than me," said Edgar, pushing the door open. "I'll go get a pair. Do you have any preferences?" Alan shook his head.

"As long as their pants, I don't care," he said. Edgar nodded and walked out. Alan sighed and sat down on the bed. Where the hell had that dream come from? He had never dreamed about Edgar before, now that he thought about it. That was what freaked him out so much about this dream. He had known Edgar for a very long time, and he had never had one dream about him. It was weird to finally see him in a dream after all this time.

He was thinking about this too much. It was just a weird, trippy dream. He had them all the time. They weren't anything to worry about. He could have been having a nightmare or something. Now _that _would have sucked. He hated dreaming about vampires, or monsters, or anything like that. He was too old to crawl into his mother's bed anymore, but that was always what he wanted to do every time he had a bad dream. Damn this whole business of growing up.

Alan was brought back to reality by a pair of pants hitting him in this face. He grunted his thanks to Edgar and pulled them on. Huh. Edgar was right. They were about the same size. That was a blow to the ego. He was the older one; he ought to be taller. Alan stood up and stretched his arms, yawning.

"Okay, I'm ready to face the world now," he said, "Did you have something you wanted to tell me?" Edgar looked at him, confused.

"You were in my room when I woke up," said Alan, "I'm assuming that it was because you had something you wanted to talk to me about." Edgar thought for a moment, trying to remember why he had been in his brother's room that early in the morning. It was very difficult to remember these sorts of things.

"I don't know," said Edgar, stroking his chin epicly, "I think I was just watching you sleep." Alan blinked and looked at his brother warily.

"What?" asked Edgar.

"That's really fucking creepy," said Alan. "I'm sorry, I don't care if you're my brother, I'm getting you help. You need it." Edgar crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at Alan. Alan retaliated by sticking his tongue out and doing that reindeer antlers wiggly fingers thing. You know what I'm talking about?

"You are so immature," said Edgar, spinning around and walking out of the room in a huff. Alan snickered. Right. Of course _he _was the immature one. Edgar never did anything immature. Ever. Edgar was like an adult suck in a teenager's body. Alan grabbed his combat boots pulled them on. As he was lacing them up, Edgar stuck his head back into the room.

"I remembered why I was in your room," he said, "I wasn't watching you sleep. Mom made chocolate chip pancakes before she left this morning. Do you want any? 'Cause if you don't, I'm totally going to eat them all." Okay, chocolate chip pancakes were a good reason to barge into his room in the morning. Not many people knew it, but Alan was a chocolate whore, more so than any girl he'd ever met.

"Of course I want some," Alan said, "If you eat them all, I will de-ball you with a pair of rusty scissors." Edgar winced and put his hands over his crotch.

"Leave my balls alone. Unlike you, I'm actually going to need these some day," he said. Alan scoffed.

"The chances of you getting laid are, uh, very very small. Like, ridiculously so," he said, "But I don't want to discuss your sex life, or lack thereof. I want pancakes." He brushed past his brother and sprinted down the hallway. He didn't want to risk Edgar getting to the pancakes before him and eating all of them just to be spiteful. That was the sort of thing Edgar would do. He had a stomach like a bottomless pit. Well, so did Alan, but he didn't abuse his stomach powers like Edgar did.

He skidded to a halt in front of the kitchen table, and found that there was still a decent amount of pancakes left. Whooping victoriously, he heaped seven onto a plate and wandered into the living room to eat. Ever since he was eleven, he had eaten in the living room. It had been so shocking and wonderful when his mother told him that he was allowed to, and he still hadn't gotten over it. After a few weeks, his brother had joined him, and then his mother as well. The kitchen table was now used only as a place to lay out food.

"Alaaaaaaannnn…" whined his brother from the kitchen, "There's only one pancake left now! That's not fair!"

"You already had some!" called Alan, "I think it's perfectly fair!" He could hear his brother muttering something under his breath.

"You're lame," said Edgar, walking into the living room with the solitary pancake clutched in his teeth. Alan smiled and munched happily on his huge pile of pancakes. Edgar huffed and flopped down on the couch.

"Well, do you have any plans for today?" he asked, and shoved the rest of the pancake into his mouth.

"Edgar, that's disgusting," said Alan. Edgar smiled and opened his mouth to show Alan the mushy remains of the pancake. Alan grimaced and looked away. "And no, not really. Why?" Edgar swallowed his pancake goo and licked a few crumbs off of his lips.

"Well, there's this cave that totally looks like a vampire's lair, and I totally want to investigate it today, and I am _not _going to do it alone," he said. "So, you're going to come with me. And you have no choice." Alan shrugged. Investigating creepy caves wasn't a bad use of his day. It was actually pretty good, considering the other ridiculous things that Edgar would come up with. Things like crawling into sewers, and "experimenting" with nitric acid. Edgar's mind was a _very _warped place, and Alan's judgment was not the best. Altogether, it made for a very dangerous combination.

"I'll go get the stakes and holy water," said Edgar, standing up, "When I get back, I want you done with breakfast and ready to go. We need to take advantage of the sunlight." He walked off towards the garage, their storage place for powerful "weapons". Alan quickly finished the rest of his pancakes and set the plate in the sink. He would wash it later, if he remembered to.

"Alan! Come on! We need to get moving _now_!" shouted Edgar. Alan sighed and trudged over to his brother. The two of them set off on another one of their ridiculous and pointless adventures. Alan was caught up in his little brother's enthusiasm and was soon chattering just as quickly and loudly as he was, his dream from the night before almost completely forgotten.

Alan wished the dreams could have just stopped there. He could have just ignored that one dream and continued going about his life as normal. Well, if vampire slaying is considered normal, that is. But he had no such luck. The dreams slowly got weirder and weirder.

The following night, he had another random and crazy dream, and Edgar was in this one too. Only, this time, Edgar took off his pants and his shirt, once again giving the explanation, 'I just felt like it.' Alan did his best to ignore it again; it was probably nothing, right? The night after that, Edgar was completely naked, and was very well hung, which was strange.

Alan had ignored Edgar's "theory" about his mind being controlled by vampires, but now he was starting to think that maybe something was screwing with his mind. Three nights of Edgar in various states of undress were not normal at all. And Edgar being equipped like a porn star? Yeah right. Alan had decided to take a look at him while he was changing, and he was _not _twelve inches. Not even close. Seriously. There was definitely something wrong with his brain.

So, Alan did something that he didn't usually do: he went to the library. Now, Alan loved reading, and the library used to be his favorite place to go. But after an unfortunate accident with a bookshelf, he hadn't been able to show his face in there ever again. The time had come to swallow his pride, however, and go. Where else could he find information on mind control? Besides that creepy guy on the corner who shouted random things about alien invasions.

After wading through the plethora of diet and self help books that assured him that he could solve all of his problems by controlling his mind through meditation or hypnosis, and the weird books that talked about how cults controlled the minds of their victims through strange psychological techniques, he found a few books on spells. Mostly they talked about boring things, like healing and making your garden flourish, but he did find one spell that seemed to resemble what he was experiencing.

It was some love spell, developed by a lovesick witch hundreds of years ago (or so it said), and it caused the object of your desires to have increasingly erotic dreams about you, until they finally became so obsessed with you that they would run up to you and proclaim their undying love. Alan wouldn't call his dreams erotic (anything involving Edgar could not, under any circumstances, be called erotic), but they were getting increasingly weird and awkward. Maybe this was what was happening to him?

If that was the case, however, that would mean that Edgar was the one casting the spell, which would mean that Edgar liked him in a not so brotherly way, and that would be awkward. Very awkward. Edgar did some pretty strange and random things, but Alan didn't think that he would do something like this. This was very un-Edgar-ish.

Also, if what the book said was true, his dreams would keep getting weirder and he would eventually end up confessing his love to his younger brother. Alan needed to have a talk with his brother before the dreams started getting too bad. He didn't want to end up banging his brother or something like that. That would be… bad.

--

1 Haha, just as I typed this, "Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except For Me And My Monkey" came on. Weeeeeiirrdd!!

2 HOLY CRAP, right as I typed this, my iPod played that part in Helter Skelter where it's like, "I've got blisters on my fingers!" This is EERIE.

**Author's Note: **I've always imagined Edgar and Alan having a single mother, for some reason, so that's how it is in this story. And, yeah, bad place to end the chapter, but I couldn't think of any other place to divide it. I'm bad at splitting things up into chapters. Just imagine this ending with really epic music and Alan making one of those "ZOMG I'M SO CONCERNED AND BTW THIS IS A CLIFFHANGER" faces. Part II will be posted as soon as my beta finishes looking at it and makes sure that it doesn't suck horrible ass.


	2. Part II of II

**Dreams: Part II**

Alan stomped down the stairs, grumbling and yawning tiredly

Alan stomped down the stairs, grumbling and yawning tiredly. Last night he'd had another one of the dreams, only this time Edgar climbed into his lap (still fully nude) and started licking his neck. This was getting absolutely out of hand. He wasn't going to be able to go to sleep ever again if this kept happening. He'd become one of those creepy people that was always high on caffeine and had crazy dark circles under their eyes.

Alan wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of iced hot chocolate 1. Where would Edgar be at this time of day? Probably in the living room, messing with some object or another. Alan walked into the living room, and sure enough, there was Edgar, sitting on the couch, trying to repair on of the squirt guns. He had broken it accidentally in an epic battle with a wall. Alan flopped down on the couch next to his brother and flipped his head in manly greeting. Edgar returned the head flip, and one could hear the manliness sparking in the air.

"Edgar," said Alan, calming setting down his glass of iced hot chocolate on the coffee table and turning to face his brother, "What do you know about magic?" Edgar stopped fiddling with his squirt gun and looked at Alan. Edgar looked like a little kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Nothing…" said Edgar slowly. He looked back down and pretended to be engrossed in his repairs. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, there was just this one LOVE SPELL that I read, and I was wondering if I could ask you about it," said Alan, watching his brother squirm and nearly snap off the end of the gun, "You wouldn't happen to know what I was talking about, would you?"

"Yuuuhhh… no… don't know what you're talking about, sorry, no, no idea, ummm… yeah, don't know…" Edgar rambled nervously.

"Are you _sure_?" asked Alan, leaning his face in, right next to his brother's, "I can detect a lie from a million miles away, Edgar. I am like a ninja; I sneak into your brain and before you know I'm there, wham! You're screwed. So tell me, Eddy, do you—"

"Alright!" screamed Edgar, "I do know what you're talking about! I did cast a love spell, and I was going to tell you about it, but I was afraid that you'd be angry, so I didn't, and now—"

"Edgar! You bloody idiot!" yelled Alan, "You should have talked about it! Maybe not to me, but _someone_! They could have convinced you not! I mean, seriously! It's weird, and wrong, and illeg—"

"I didn't know _who _to talk to!" cried Edgar, "Who could I talk to? Sammy? And I know it was bad, but I can't decide where my heart leads me! If it was my decision, I wouldn't have chosen my brother's—"

"Even if you have strange feelings like that, you should just ignore them!" yelled Alan, waving his arms in a windmill-like motion, "Have some common sense, man! It's so screwed up! It's beyond screwed up! I can't believe you would—"

"But why does it matter so much! You and Strawberry aren't together anymore, so I have every right to—"

"Just because I broke up with her doesn't mean you can just scoot in and—"

"Yes it does! She's totally available now—"

"Just because I'm single now does not mean I'm willing to… wait, what?" Alan trailed off. _Strawberry _was 'totally available now'? Did that mean…?

"Oh my god," muttered Alan, cradling his head in his hands, "You were trying to hook up with _Strawberry_?" Edgar sighed and nodded, looking sheepish.

"Yeah," he said, "I know she's your ex and all, but she's really pretty, and nice, and her eyes 2 are like crystal clear pools of emerald that lead straight into her soul. When she gazes at me, or you, or anyone else, you can see the good person sparkling in those beautiful depths. They are so green, like a lush forest on an early spring morning, glittering in the gentle sunlight, and when she laughs, they twinkle like millions of stars…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," interrupted Alan, "She had nice eyes. But why didn't you just tell me you liked her? I probably could have set you two up."

"I didn't want you to get mad at me," said Edgar. Alan sighed.

"Well, magic is definitely _not _the way to solve a problem like that. Do you have any idea what you did?" he asked. Edgar shook his head.

"I don't know what you mean," he said, "I just mixed up the potion and cast the spell."

"Well, something went wrong," said Alan, "Horribly, horribly, wrong."

"What?" asked Edgar, scratching his head and looking rather like a monkey.

"Let's just say that _I_, not Strawberry, have been having 'increasingly erotic dreams' about you," said Alan. Edgar's eyes widened.

"Oh shit," Edgar whispered. Alan nodded.

"Yeah, oh shit is right," he said, "Do you know how to get it to stop?" Edgar seemed to be ignoring him. He looked lost in his thoughts.

"But how could this have happened?" he said, "I did everything right. I mixed the potion under the new moon," so that's what he had been doing that night, "and all the ingredients were right. I made sure. Rose petals, oil of heather, foxglove, salt of rosemary, spirit of sage…" Edgar listed off everything that had gone into his "potion." Alan was surprised that he could remember it all.

"…willow leaves, some of my blood, a bit of her hair…"

"Wait," said Alan, cutting off his brother's tirade, "Where you did you get her hair?"

"She left her hairbrush here one day, and it was still on your dresser. I plucked a few hairs from that," said Edgar. "They were really smooth and luscious." Alan groaned.

"Edgar, you moron, _I've _been using that brush. She gave it to me as a gift." Alan shook his head at his brother's overwhelming lack of sense.

"Oh no," Edgar groaned, flopping onto his side. "This is very bad."

"_You _think it's very bad? I'm the one who's subconscious is sending him naughty images of his brother! I'm dying here!"

"I'm sorry!" said Edgar, "I didn't mean to."

"It's fine," sighed Alan, patting Edgar on the shoulder. His brother looked so upset; it was hard to stay angry. "We just need to stop it. No offense, but seeing you naked every night is kind of disturbing. And you _so _do not have a twelve inch dick." Edgar snickered.

"How do you know?" he asked, grinning.

"Because I watched you change," said Alan matter-of-factly. Edgar blinked.

"That's a little creepy," he said.

"Casting love spells on your brother is a little creepy," said Alan. Edgar huffed.

"That was an accident," he said, "Like I would ever intentionally cast a love spell on you. You are not my type."

"Hey, I'm sexy," said Alan, mock-offended, "Don't deny it. Besides, didn't you say that the hair you found on my brush was 'smooth and luscious'?"

"Errrgggh, That's because I thought it was Strawberry's hair. Your hair is _so _not smooth and luscious. Mine is, though." Edgar twirled his fingers in his hair. Alan frowned and flicked his brother on the nose.

"You're mean. And vain." Edgar snickered.

"You're stupid, and unsexy."

They sat there for a few minutes, each just thinking their own random and crazy thoughts. Edgar started fiddling with the squirt gun again, and Alan continued to randomly flick his brother and sip at his iced hot chocolate. It was really the coolest and most delicious drink ever. There should be a cult dedicated to it. (Mmmkay, I'll stop now xD)

"Seriously though," Alan said finally, "How do you get rid of it?"

"I don't really know," said Edgar, "The book said that the spell would 'cease' when 'the lovers intimately exchange bodily fluids.' Whatever that means." Alan's jaw dropped.

"Please tell me that you just made a very bad, tasteless joke," he said, "You need to tell me that right now, or I think I'm going to vomit. Or faint. Or vomit, then faint and fall into my vomit." Edgar shook his head.

"I'm not joking. That's what the book said. What does it mean?"

"Sex, Edgar. It means sex. It means that we have to have sex to get the spell to stop. I shout beat you for casting such a stupid spell without reading the fine print first," said Alan, making strangling motions in the air. Edgar whimpered and curled up in a little ball.

"Please don't hit me! I didn't know!" he said. "I was just fighting… for love." Hearts and pink sparkles exploded in the background, anime style, and sappy music soared. Alan took a shaky breath, trying to quell his homicidal urges.

"I won't hit you," he said, "But… god, Edgar. This is what they call a Learning Experience." Edgar nodded violently.

"Yeah, I know," he said, "Trust me. I will be the smartest, most careful person EVER after this is over."

"There must be an easier way to do this," muttered Alan. "I can't… not with you Edgar. I don't see how I could ever get it up, much less… 'do the deed'."

"Why would you need to get it up?" asked Edgar, "All you'd have to do is lay back and take it. I'd be the one worrying about getting it up and sticking it, uh, 'you know where'." Alan scoffed.

"Right. As if. You could never top me."

"Could too," muttered Edgar. A few minutes passed as the brothers continued to angst to themselves.

"Arrrggghhh! I can't believe I have to have sex with my little brother!" screamed Alan, "This is so unfair!"

"Well, maybe there's some way around it," suggested Edgar. "Is sex the only way 'an intimate exchange of bodily fluids' could be interpreted?" Alan thought for a moment.

"I guess it could also mean kissing, possibly," he said, "It would have to be with tongue, though. That's the 'bodily fluids' part."

"Dude, that's a hell of a lot better than sex," said Edgar, "Let's just try that first and see if it works."

"Yeah," agreed Alan.

Edgar sat up and faced his brother. He took a deep breath and looked him in the eye, trying to mentally prepare himself for blatantly incestuous activity. Aaawwwkward.

"So, uh, how do… I mean, um…" He fidgeted. Alan licked his bottom lip nervously. This would… interesting. He gently placed his hand on the side of Edgar's face and leaned in. He could feel Edgar's warm breath against his cheek, and he could tell that Edgar's heart was beating as quickly as his own. 3

"Oh my god," Alan whispered, "I don't know if I can do this…" He slowly pressed his lips against Edgar's. Okay, this wasn't so bad. Edgar's lips were surprisingly soft, almost as soft as a girl's. And was that melon-flavored chapstick he tasted? He delicately moved his lips against Edgar's. Edgar remained still as stone. Alan grumbled internally. He had to participate if this was going to work. He tried to slide his tongue against Edgar's lip and Edgar pulled away quickly.

"This is so weird!" he cried, covering his face with his hands, "I can't, I can't, I can't, no way…" Alan sighed and put his arm around Edgar in one of those manly-one-armed-side-hugs.

"Look, it's either this, or sex," said Alan, looking for the bright side of the situation, "And sex would be _so _much weirder." Edgar buried his face in Alan's shoulder.

"I knooooww," he whined, "But this is still… so weird." Alan patted Edgar's shoulder, trying to find a way to comfort him. Edgar was right; this was incredibly weird, but what else could he do? "Increasingly erotic dreams" about his brother were not something that he wanted to live with for the rest of his life. He grabbed Edgar's chin and titled his face upward to look at him.

"We just have to grit our teeth and do it," he said, and crushed his lips against Edgar's once more. He could do this. It was for a good cause. He definitely did not want to be having creepy wet dreams about his younger brother for the rest of his life. Edgar shifted around and tried to pull away again, but Alan grabbed the back of his head and held him in place.

'Intimately exchange bodily fluids'? Psh. No problem. Alan ran his tongue along Edgar's bottom lip, trying to get him to open his mouth. Edgar kept his lips tightly closed. Alan growled and pressed his tongue against them harder. Edgar still kept them closed. Fine. If Edgar was going to be like that… Alan bit Edgar's bottom lip. Edgar gave a little cry of pain and Alan took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside his mouth.

So. He was part of the way there now. Exactly how much 'exchanging' did he need to do? Alan slid his tongue against Edgar's and almost cringed. That was his _brother's _tongue. He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible. He didn't know how long he could stand this for. Edgar probably would not appreciate him throwing up in his mouth.

Alan quickly and thoroughly moved his tongue throughout Edgar's mouth, taking care to 'exchange' as many 'bodily fluids' as he could during the process. He almost laughed at how Edgar's tongue would brush up against his, then avoid it, then try again. He had to give Edgar credit: he was very inexperienced, as far as Alan knew, and now he was being asked to make out with his older brother. He was handling it as well as he could be expected to.

Finally, Alan pulled away, wiping his lips. Edgar leaned his head back against the couch and gasped desperately for air. Apparently he hadn't quite figured out how to breath through his nose while kissing. That had taken Alan a while to learn too. He could remember some very painful dates where he nearly asphyxiated.

"Well, now that's done…" he said. Edgar nodded and readjusted his headband. 4

"It was… different than I expected," he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Alan.

"Er, you're a… different sort of kisser than I thought you'd be, that's all," said Edgar, shrugging.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" asked Alan, raising an eyebrow.

"You know what? Never mind," said Edgar. "Doesn't matter."

"No, tell me what you mean," said Alan, grabbing a handful of Edgar's hair and yanking on it.

"Owwwwww ow ow ow, I said it didn't matter! Ow! Let go of my hair!" yelled Edgar, slapping at Alan's hand.

"Tell me," growled Alan, twisting Edgar's hair.

"OOOWWW!" screamed Edgar, "I'm just saying that I can see why Strawberry broke up with you! Now let go of my hair!" Alan let his brother's hair go and looked at him thoughtfully. Edgar rubbed his head and glared at Alan.

"Well, I mean, I wasn't trying that hard," said Alan, "You're my brother. I didn't want to make it all, weird or anything." Edgar nodded slowly.

"Sure," he said. Alan huffed.

"Okay, you're just asking for it now." He jumped up, pushed Edgar onto his back, and straddled him. Edgar looked up at him, wide-eyed, and squeaked at Alan gently stroked the side of face and ran his other hand down the side of his torso.

"Alan? What are you—" Alan covered Edgar's mouth with his won. Edgar squirmed as Alan trailed his hand over his hip, then to the small of his back. Alan wrapped his other arm around Edgar's shoulder and pulled him close. After a moment, he pulled away to admire his handiwork. Edgar lay there panting, and blushing redder than a tomato.

"W-what the fuck was that?" he stammered. Alan leaned forward to play with Edgar's hair.

"Just showing you that I'm a very competent kisser. Strawberry broke up with me because she decided that she was in love with some hobo. Apparently, he was the One For Her or something like that."

"Aww man," muttered Edgar, "That sucks." They sat there silently for a few minutes, Edgar lying on his back and Alan settled comfortably on top of him. Then—

"Never again, Edgar."

"Agreed."

Alan enjoyed his first dreamless night in four days.

1 Yes, I would like Alan to drink me out of a glass ;) No, but seriously, it is the most delicious drink in the world, and for chocolate whores like Alan and me, it is pure HEAVEN. You should try it. It will rock your world.

2 This is for Tocxica, because she is absolutely right. You can't have an OC without a long description of their lovely eyes .

3 It just occurred to me that this might sound different than how I meant it. I meant that their hearts are beating quickly because they're nervous, not in a sexual way (as much as I'd like it to be ;))

4 I can't write a fic without mentioning Edgar's HEADBAND OF DOOM!

**Author's Note: **Okay, uh, where to begin… please don't hit me! This crack sucks giant monkey balls and I know it xP. It was an idea that would NOT go away, even when I asked it very nicely. So, I sat down to write it, and, of course, it took FOREVER to write, but I felt like I couldn't abandon it, so I just kept writing, and now, finally, it's done.

Except… I have an itty bitty plot idea floating around in my head. Possible part three. NO! Must resist…!

Please review, and be nice to this pathetic little… thing.


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